


Pink is the New Black

by cherubcheeks



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, Prison AU, Slow Burn, but they're not going to have sex for a while just warning you, cis girl au, criminal activity (obvs), dark moments but also super soft ones too, dom!trixie, drug references, it's basically orange is the new black but even more gay, katya was a prostitute for the russian mafia, sub!katya, trixie is in there for credit card fraud, very strong language, violet runs a prison brothel, will add content warnings as i go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 02:31:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherubcheeks/pseuds/cherubcheeks
Summary: Trixie Mattel is transported from a life of luxury (funded entirely through a Mr. Brian Firkus' credit card) to a world of beige jumpsuits, group showers and homemade shivs. After meeting a certain kooky former mafia prostitute/current prison prostitute, Trixie dedicates her 6 month sentence towards winning Katya's heart, coming face to face with the intimidatingly beautiful jail-gang leader Violet Chachki while doing so. Expect soft moments of female friendship, sexual tension, power-play, and lots and lots of lesbians.





	Pink is the New Black

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thank you so much for giving this story a chance despite the garbage title and summary- This is my first ever fic so if you do read it I'd really appreciate feedback on how to suck less! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm aware that Prison AU's are a super sensitive topic, and I hope I can actually confront some of the fucked up injustices in the American criminal justice system (although I'm not from the US!) and explore some issues surrounding criminality, prisons, poverty, drugs etc. whilst still being an entertaining read! I'm really interested in criminology and do heaps of research on it so I'm trying really hard to stay true to life, but there will be a few discrepancies in the interest of plot. Please do let me know if anything I write is offensive or inaccurate in any way!
> 
> More notes at the end!x

Trixie felt her stomach twist tighter when she saw the road sign telling her they were 15 miles away. None of this had felt real up until this moment, and her boastful bravado was slipping away by the minute. She turned to look at Shea, who had her eyes fixed on the road, her well-manicured fingers wrapped lightly around the steering wheel. Trixie silently willed Shea to turn and look at her, to give her a smile that would reassure her that everything would be alright. But she carried on looking ahead, the furrow in her brow telling Trixie that Shea was just as worried for her as she was. She sighed dramatically, the gesture letting her feel some of the frustration escape her body.

“This is fucking ridiculous.” She moaned. “I’m literally going to be eaten alive. Fuck!”

“You should have thought of that before you got your ass caught.” Shea muttered under her breath. Trixie rolled her eyes.

“It’s not like I planned on it.” She retorted, mentally cursing her friend for not being more sympathetic in her time of need.

“What did you expect, bitch? Don’t go around bragging with your ‘Mr Brian Firkus’ credit card if you don’t want people to realise you’re a fraudulent whore!” Shea teased. Trixie knew she was right, but this wasn’t the time for a lecture, it was a time for being pampered and fawned over and maybe even a tear or two.

“Oh sorry, ‘Jarren’, I forgot you were a master of disguise.”  Trixie was being petty now, and she could feel it, but she also couldn’t bring herself to stop.

“I use _my_ card to pay off my loan, not to buy the whole of Gucci’s Spring collection and then post it on Instagram.” Shea’s ‘holier than thou’ act was really starting to piss Trixie off, and for a split second she was tempted to snitch on her when they got to the station. She shook the thought off, horrified that it had even crossed her mind. Shea was her best friend, and there was no way she was going to drag her down with her.

“I’m gonna miss you so much. I bet there are _no_ pretty bitches in prison. Just, like, junkies with two teeth and goths who bite pigeon’s heads off.” Trixie pouted. Shea laughed.

“Then, you’ll be like Beyoncé to them! Go in there and show those toothless bitches that they can’t fuck with you. Make them worship you. Do _not_ show them that you’re scared. You’ve got this, mama.”

 

“You’ve got this, mama. You’ve got this, mama. You’ve got this, mama.” Trixie whispered to herself as she was lead down the corridor by a small but intimidating guard who introduced herself as Officer Del Rio. She was only given seconds to say goodbye to Shea before being ushered into an interrogation room where she was strip searched (which was mortifying) and given her new wardrobe; two khaki jumpsuits, two white shirts (one long sleeve, one short), one pair of grey sweatpants, one grey sweater, one beige outdoor jacket and a hat and gloves. Trixie wanted to weep as she handed over her pink designer dress and authentic Russian princess coat. There were no mirrors, which she was glad for, as she knew the sight of her in her atrocious uniform would push her over the edge. She was talked through the rules, shown a video about avoiding sexual assault, given a chance for questions (to which she asked if makeup was purchasable from commissary) and then it was time to enter the prison. Trixie could feel her heart accelerating with every step she took, and she wanted nothing more than to just turn around and bolt out of the doors, to keep running until her feet failed her, until she was back home in her warm, soft, safe bed. She longed for the crackle of her vinyl player, lulling her to sleep with the sounds of Dolly Parton, her silk eye mask shutting out the light from her floor to ceiling windows.

 

She was shaken out of her daydream by Officer Del Rio coming to a halt.

“This is you.” She announced, banging on the door of Block C, Cell 7. Trixie stared through the large glass window, netted with wire. The room was smaller than Trixie’s guest bathroom, with the stark bunkbed and basin nearly filling the space up. There was small shelf that only seemed to house the hideous uniform and a small handful of outdated fashion magazines. She tried to locate her bunkmate, but all she could see was a lump under the cheap looking blanket of the bottom bunk. Del Rio rolled her eyes.

“Liason, come on, did the marijuana finally kill that part of your brain that controls manners? Come meet your new Bunkie!” Del Rio ordered, and Trixie couldn’t decide whether her quips were light hearted and comforting or malicious and unsettling. Eventually a low groan came from the bed, and the sheets came off to reveal a tall, young, and unexpectedly pretty girl. _Fuck_ , Trixie thought, _this must be my competition._ Trixie silently hoped that there would be no trouble, that the girl would adopt Trixie as her partner in crime (literally) as the prettiest girls in prison, rather than see her as competition and make her life hell.

“Jesus, Del Rio, no need to yell like a fucking banshee.” The girl drawled as she made her way towards the door, taking an impressively long time for such a short distance. Trixie held in a gasp at the girl’s behaviour towards the guard, and waited with bated breath for Officer Del Rio to go off on her. To her surprise, the guard just raised an eyebrow, which seemed to be enough for the girl to drop the attitude and shoot Trixie a lazy smile.

“Hey. I’m Pearl, welcome to paradise.” She joked. Well, Trixie was pretty sure she was joking, but her monotone voice made it hard to tell. Still, Trixie gave her a tight smile, awkwardly shifting her weight from one side to the other in a sudden moment of self-conscious awareness.

“Trixie.”

A silence hung in the air as the two stared at each other, both of them trying to suss the other out. Del Rio finally broke the silence.

“Well, this was heart-warming, I can tell you’re going to be friends for life.” She put on an overly sweet voice, making Pearl scoff. “As much as I’d love to stay for this riveting conversation, it’s time for my break. Mattel, make your bed. Liaison, look after Barbie, show her the sights.”

 

The short guard strutted off, whistling at an inmate for running as she went. Pearl and Trixie lingered by the doorway. Eventually Pearl nodded up to the top bunk.

“I can help you make your bed if you want. I’ve got a couple of blunts under that mattress so I’m going to need to move those anyway.” Pearl must have mistaken Trixie’s widened eyes for interest rather than shock. “Oh sorry, do you want one?”

 “Oh wow!” Trixie immediately chastised herself for the lame response, coughing slightly before continuing in a cooler tone. “I mean, yeah, thanks.”

Her friend Kim’s advice about not getting too close to people, not breaking rules, and not accepting gifts echo in her head, but she tried to ignore it. What did Kim know? The closest she had got to prison was watching a K-drama about one. Pearl nodded and ducked into her bunk, reaching up to remove something from the slats of the bed above her. She pulled out a very thin, very squashed blunt, that couldn’t have had more than a sprinkle of weed in. Trixie was relieved; she didn’t smoke often, and wasn’t in a rush to spend her first day in prison stoned out of her mind. Regardless, she wanted to impress Pearl, and if that meant risking getting into trouble then so be it. She still did an instinctive look around to make sure there were no guards nearby, which Pearl laughed at and reassured there was always a five-minute crossover when Del Rio went on her break.

“Raven is _always_ late.” She promised as she passed the blunt to Trixie. They were crouched on the floor by the tail end of the bunks, hidden from view of the door. Trixie didn’t know whether it was the weed kicking in, or the superficial companionship of Pearl, but she slowly felt the panic that had been brewing in her body for the last few weeks start to settle. Sure, she didn’t have her friends, or her house, or Instagram, but if prison was going to be like this- hiding in corners to smoke like naughty teenagers at high school- she could deal with this being her life for the next six months. Deep down she knew she was being ignorant, that this was the tip of a much deeper and scarier iceberg, but she pushed that thought down for now and focused on breathing in the stale, weak, probably once vaginally stored class C drug. Besides, this whole experience would make for an _excellent_ chapter in her memoir when she was a world-famous country singer.

 

After they finished the joint and destroyed the evidence of the roach, Pearl helped make Trixie’s bed. As they were doing so Pearl gave a rundown of the guards; who you could joke with, who was up for making deals, who dished out harsh punishments, and who to avoid at all costs. Trixie was relieved to hear that most of the guards in their block were chilled, and that the super mean ones were reserved for segregated cells or isolation units, where Trixie would never be if she could avoid it. They were now sitting cross legged on Trixie’s bunk, knees slightly touching in a platonic way that comforted Trixie.

“What about the other prisoners, anyone to watch out for?” Trixie asked, feeling a mix of fear and intrigue. “Oh my God, are there any serial killers?”

“In a minimum-security prison?” Pearl smirked and raised an eyebrow. “No. Most of the girls are in here for non-violent crimes.”   
“But there must be some fucked up people, right? People who would shank me if I took their spot in the cafeteria?” Trixie prompted, conjuring a vision in her head of a burly woman of 6”4, menacingly cracking her knuckles at the sight of Trixie’s Barbie girl femme fantasy. Pearl laughed.

“You clearly watch way too many prison dramas. Just stick with me and you’ll be fine.” There was an almost boasting tone to Pearl’s words, as if she saw herself as the top dog of the jail. Trixie hoped she was telling the truth.

“Are there like, gang wars and stuff?” Trixie was worried she was annoying Pearl now, but all the questions she’d had in the months leading up to her sentence were suddenly gushing out. The lack of immediate dismissal worried Trixie, and Pearl hesitated before shaking her head.

“There aren’t really gangs. Not in the way you’re thinking of, anyway. There’s the pink jackets, but that’s really it.” Pearl explained, not seeming like she was going to give any clarification about what that meant.  
“The pink jackets?” She asked. _Now this is a gang I can get behind,_ Trixie thought. She would _kill_ for a pink jacket… Unless you literally had to kill for a pink jacket. Pearl sighed.

“You’re gonna see some of the girls wearing pale pink jumpsuits. _Originally,_ they were brought in as a punishment. They stole the idea from some men’s maximum prison in South Carolina; if an inmate was caught having sex or jacking off, they were put in a pink jumpsuit as a form of humiliation. Obviously, it didn’t have quite the same effect on a bunch of small time drug dealing lesbians as it did on homophobic murderers. Suddenly, everyone was banging in public to get out of the hideous beige shit we have to wear. _So_ , that idea was scrapped, and now it’s basically become the unofficial uniform for Violet’s brothel.” Pearl spoke as if she was retelling the story for the hundredth time, and Trixie wondered how many roommates she had gone through who had asked the same questions.

“I’m sorry, brothel?” Trixie questioned, not being able to hide the squeak in her voice. Pearl rolled her eyes.  
“Violet kinda… runs things around here. All the pink jacket girls belong to her, and she lends them out as favours. The guards just give them the jumpsuits to make them identifiable, I guess.” Pearl shrugged, her voice apathetic. Trixie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Wait, the guards know about this?” She asked, and Pearl nodded.

“Know about it? They’re some of Violet’s key clientele! Those girls get away with murder.” Pearl noticed the look on Trixie’s face and laughed. “Not literally. They just never get in trouble for shit. None of them have to do jobs, either. It’s corrupt as fuck.” She shook her head, then changed her tone. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry about that, I’m friends with most of them and Violet owes me a few ‘favours’ herself.”

Before Trixie could ask any more questions- and she had a _lot_ more questions- there was a voice at the door.

 

“Who’s the newbie?”

Trixie snapped her head round. The first thing she saw, jumping out to her like a sore thumb, was a pale pink jumpsuit. Her heart started thumping, worried that they had been overheard gossiping and she was about to get beaten to a pulp. She saw Pearl smiled more warmly than she had all day, and forced herself to relax. She was fine. She allowed herself to look at the girl in the jumpsuit. She was petite, probably no taller than 5”3, but her tattooed arms were surprisingly defined. She had a mess of golden curls framing her angular face, her piercing blue eyes boring right into Trixie’s, making her feel like she was staring right into her soul. She grinned widely, revealing her blindingly white teeth. _Fuck_ , Trixie thought, _is this the block they put all the pretty bitches in_? How was she going to get by on her looks when she was up against supermodel Pearl and… _this?_ This weird, stunning, alien little tattooed pixie who was smiling at Trixie a little too intensely for her liking.

“I’m Trixie.” She replied, a little taken aback by the blonde bounding towards the bed, hurtling up the ladder with athletic agility. She immediately sat herself on Pearl’s lap, nuzzling her head into Pearl’s neck like a kitten. Pearl instinctively started stroking the girl’s back, making Trixie suddenly feel like the third wheel.

“Hi! That’s a pretty name. I’m Katya. What did’ya do?” Katya cocked her head, waiting on Trixie’s answer like an excited puppy ready for its walk. Who _is_ this weirdo? Trixie was pretty sure it was against common courtesy to ask other inmates of their crimes, but quickly guessed that Katya wasn’t one to follow common courtesy.

“Um, credit card fraud.” She hoped that wasn’t a lame crime, she could do with having some sort of street cred. Katya seemed impressed.

“Nice! Did you buy yourself those massive tits?” Katya pondered casually, as if it wasn’t an outrageous question to ask someone you met twelve seconds ago. Pearl laughed and shook her head in a way that suggested this outlandish behaviour was not unusual for this strange little creature.

“I’m proud to say that these are all real.” Trixie boasted, gesturing towards her chest which was, admittedly, stretching the cheap fabric of her jumpsuit to the extreme. Katya’s eyes widened in a way that made Trixie’s stomach stir. She ignored the feeling and continued to brag. “ _These_ , however,” she pointed to her lips, puffy from recent injections, “were 100% funded by the generous Mr Brian Firkus.”

Katya wheezed with laughter and flailed her hands around in a manic manner, even though Trixie hadn’t really told a joke or even said anything that funny. _She’s probably on crack_ , Trixie thought to herself.

“Oh!” Katya suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening with importance and nearly hitting Pearl in the face with her dramatic gestures. She slightly leaned forward and placed her palms on Trixie’s knee, taking Trixie back with the sudden and bold touch. “I never told you why I’m here! And you never even asked, bitch! Do you not care? It’s an amazing story.” She rambled, changing accents and voices about four times. _This bitch really is crazy_ , Trixie silently decided.

“It’s really not.” Pearl interjected.

“Yes it is, you cunt!” Katya shouted. A couple of old women playing checkers in the common ahead outside turned and shushed her. Katya completely ignored them, looking Trixie straight in the eyes with a grave seriousness. “Get a load of this, _bitch_.” She said in a hushed voice. “I was a prostitute…”  
“Unsurprising.” Trixie deadpanned without even thinking about it, instantly freaking out that she had got herself on the wrong side of a literal _gang member_. Luckily, Katya burst out laughing.

“I wasn’t finished, you whore! I was a prostitute, for the motherfucking Russian mafia!” She suddenly leaned back in Pearl’s lap and spread her legs into a wide split, cheering herself for her own accolade with a little ‘Woo!’. Trixie kept her eyes on Katya’s face, and not her flexing thighs. Well, she tried to.

“Oh wow.” Was all Trixie could think to reply. She couldn’t imagine this little oddball involved in _any_ sort of mafia, let alone the Russian one. Katya seemed to take Trixie’s bewilderment for admiration, as she was sitting there nodding with a smile on her face like an idiot. Trixie found it rather endearing.

“It’s true, it’s true! Every _Pakhan_ and _Brigadier_ has had a piece of this pussy.” She announced proudly as she ran her hands suggestively up her thighs. Trixie swallowed thickly, quickly pushing away the thoughts that rushed to her head.

“Yeah, and every prisoner and guard has, too.” Pearl quipped, making Katya gasp and clutch her face dramatically like she was an actress in a tele novella.

“How _very_ dare you, you hela-monster, I’m a reformed woman of the _Bible_! The only thing touching this bitch is our Lord and Saviour.” She exclaimed.

“Interesting nickname for Violet.” Pearl muttered under her breath, suddenly seeming tense. Katya didn’t seem to notice, she was too busy making an improvised song about how much she loved Jesus. Trixie couldn’t decide if she wanted this crazy woman to be her best friend or to stay away from her at costs.

 

“Katya.”

Everyone’s head turned to see a tall, beautiful ( _really, **another** one?) _ girl with pulled back blonde hair standing at the door. She was also in a pink jumpsuit, Trixie noted.

“Yes, Tati, my beautiful, darling, sweet, sweet, angel?” Katya replied, her head in her hands like a lovesick cartoon.

“Get down, Violet wants you.” The tall girl replied. Katya squealed and shot up, about to about to bound back down the ladder before remembering to say goodbye to Pearl and Trixie. She suddenly squeezed Trixie tight into a hug, overwhelming Trixie with the scent of cigarettes and the slightest hint of sweat. Despite that, it was warm and comforting and Trixie was sad when it ended.

“Nice meeting you, big tits! See you at lunch!”  
She shot off past the other girl, zooming down the corridor with a childlike gallop. Trixie heard a whistle and a barking order to slow down. Katya shouted “Sorry!”, but carried on speeding nevertheless. The tall girl watched her leave with the fondness of a tired but affectionate older sister, and then turned back to Trixi.

“Sorry about…her. I love her, but she’s a _lot._ I’m Tatianna.”

“It’s fine, she was… interesting!” Trixie tried to sound like she was being sarcastic, but in reality, she was interested in Katya- not that she was going to go find this Violet and find out what ‘favour’ she could pull for her. She was just intrigued, and wanted to get to know her better.  
“That’s one word for it. Criminally insane is another…” Tatianna trailed off, seemingly scrutinising Trixie. “You’re cute.” She hummed.  
“Don’t.” Pearl asserted suddenly. In all honestly, Trixie had almost forgotten Pearl was there. Tatianna held her hands up.  
“Relax, I wasn’t recruiting.” She asserted, and Trixie finally caught onto what was happening. “Violet’s not hiring anyways.”

Suddenly, an alarm rang across the sound system. Trixie panicked, already having been strip searched once that day, and _really_ not being in the mood for round two. Pearl saw her tense up and rolled her eyes.

“Relax, girl.” She laughed. “It’s just the lunch bell.”

 

As Pearl tucked into her food, Trixie stared down at the brown sludge on her plate and wanted to weep. She was told it was chilli, but it didn’t resemble the comforting dish her mother used to make even slightly. She suddenly found herself longing to be in her childhood house, something she hadn’t wished for since the day she left it, and felt incredibly homesick for her mother’s arms.

“You okay, Blondie?”

Trixie’s head snapped up to see Katya walking towards her, eventually sitting opposite her. On either side of her were two other pink jumpsuit girls. The one to her left was an elegant, poised looking woman with an impeccably symmetrical face and perfect posture. The other was tiny, even smaller than Katya, and her dyed candyfloss pink hair looked to be in way too good condition for an inmate. _Seriously,_ Trixie thought, _is there **one** ugly bitch in this prison!? _Trixie gave Katya a meek smile, taking a deep breath to compose herself before speaking.

“Oh, yeah, never been better. Just wish I had my phone to Instagram this gourmet meal.” Trixie quipped back, swallowing the lump in her throat. Out of the corner of her eye, Trixie saw the pink haired girl staring intently at Trixie as if she was trying to work something out, and if she were an inch or two taller Trixie might have been intimidated. Katya grinned widely and then tapped the shoulders of the girls either side of her.

“Girls, this is Trixie. She has ginormous tits and they’re real. Trixie, this is Farrah. She has ginormous tits and they’re fake. This is Fame. The only thing fake about her is her personality.” She introduced, cracking herself up by the end. Fame furrowed her eyebrows, looking offended. “I’m joking! I’m joking! …Her jawline is fake too!”  
The girls ignored Katya, and gave Trixie a polite smile. Trixie returned it, and desperately tried to think of conversation to make.

“So…Fame? Is that your Christian name?” Trixie asked. Fame raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“It’s my brand.” She replied stonily. Trixie couldn’t stop an incredulous laugh escape her lips. She immediately went to cover her mouth but everyone caught it, including Katya, who gave her a devilish smirk. Trixie felt her stomach flip.

“Oh…wow.” Is all Trixie could think to say. Farrah was still giving Trixie the side eye, and it was starting to bother her. She looked her straight in the eye and cocked her head in what she hoped was a threatening way. Farrah didn’t seem to get the message, squinting at Trixie as if she needed glasses to see her.

“I’m sorry.” The pink haired girl finally said. “Do I know you from somewhere? I’ve _definitely_ seen you before.”

Trixie raised a sceptical eyebrow. It wasn’t impossible; Trixie went through a phase at the beginning of her card fraudulent days of attending luxurious parties and getting ludicrously drunk, and it wasn’t uncommon for her to share an Uber home with silicone Barbie’s like Farrah. However, if Trixie’s hazy memories of those nights were anything to go by, it would be strange for Farrah to recognise her. Suddenly Farrah’s eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect, semi orgasmic ‘O’ shape.

“Oh my God, you’re Trixie Mattel! I follow you on Instagram!” She exclaimed excitedly. “No _way_ are you here. What did you do!?” She gushed, star-struck.

Trixie felt everyone’s eyes turn to her and she wanted the ground to swallow her up. On Instagram, she was Face-tuned to the gods, makeup beat, clothes on point and with the backdrop of a Malibu beach house or a 5* hotel. She could only imagine the juxtaposition to her haggard state now. She could positively feel her cheeks turning beetroot.

“Oh, um… Well, the life I showcase online may not be paid for _entirely_ through ad revenue and sponsored posts…” She muttered vaguely, already growing embarrassed of having to repeat her crime to people over and over again. Fame nodded curtly, and Farrah gawked and squealed like a child. Katya seemed bored of the conversation, jamming her plastic knife in the space between her splayed out fingers. Pearl suddenly sighed and stood up, the most attention she had commanded for the entire lunch.

“Well, _some_ of us need to go to work.” She announced, before turning to Trixie. “Are you going to be okay?”

Trixie nodded, but in all honesty, she wasn’t sure. Pearl had been her security blanket up until now, and the concept of navigating this place without her constantly by her side seemed daunting.

“She’ll be fine, I’ll look after her!” Katya piped up. “Oh, oh! I’ll give her a tour! Please let me give you a tour!” Katya turned to Trixie, pleading with wide puppy dog eyes. Trixie hesitated. She liked Katya, but she didn’t know whether getting too cosy with a mafia prostitute turned prison prostitute was a great idea on her first day. Maybe she should just find a nice group of tax avoiders, or drink drivers, or _anyone_ that wasn’t affiliated with one of the most dangerous organisations in the world. Still, against her better judgement, Trixie nodded.

“Sure. I mean, I haven’t got anything better to do.”

 

Trixie was in the middle of Katya’s extensive tour, and was starting to wonder if it would ever end. She could have guessed that it wouldn’t _quite_ be the conventional “here’s the phone room, here are the showers”, but she didn’t know she would be getting the level of detail that she was. They had been going for 30 minutes and were yet to actually enter a room, instead Trixie was getting acquainted with the various hallways of the prison, and ‘notable’ (a word used _very_ loosely) events that had taken place there.   
“This spot right here is where Sharon knocked out Phi-phi’s snaggle tooth. I kept the tooth, I’m going to put it on a ring when I get out.” Katya pointed out a particular spot in the empty corridor with one hand as she dragged Trixie along with the other. They had already been whistled at by a guard once for holding hands, but Katya just flashed a smile and a ‘no funny business, promise!’ and they were left alone. Trixie thought then that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to get close to Katya; she really did seem to get away with anything. Every so often Katya would allude to places where she’d had sex- cubby holes where she’d suck off guards or closets where she’d been fingered by a money launderer. Though she spoke with nonchalant, even sometimes boastful candour, Trixie couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. Surely Katya was being taken advantage of by whoever this Violet girl was, let alone the guards that were supposed to be looking after her. Trixie tried to bring it up, but Katya shrugged it off.

“Besides,” She said. “I don’t do that anymore.”

  
They had now been across almost the entire ground, minus the actual cells. They’d been to the library, ran by a friendly and hilarious woman named Bob who, seemingly like most other people in the prison, was the “best person ever” according to Katya. They’d been to the laundry room, which apparently served its main function as a drug den- Katya made Trixie pinkie promise that she would _not_ take any meth, coke or heroin while she was here, not that Trixie was planning on it anyway. They’d been to the rec room, where Katya proudly informed Trixie that she would be teaching her first yoga class in two days. Katya then proceeded to demonstrate some of her favourite moves, making Trixie blush and getting the attention of every guard and inmate in the room. They’d been to the “salon” (if you could call it that), the only room that Trixie spotted any more pink jackets, but they didn’t linger in there long enough to be introduced. Katya explained that ‘officially’ most of them worked in there, but only really to have their name on the register and to get their pay into the commissary. “ _I_ personally _love_ cutting hair,” Katya pouted, “but only Tammie will let me do it to them”. They went to the classroom that doubled up as the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting room, the prayer room that doubled up as the visitation room, the doctor’s office which was also used for counselling, and about a million other rooms that Trixie had no idea prisons even had. Throughout the whole excursion inmates and guards alike were greeting Katya fondly (three of them even called her their ‘best friend’), and so in turn gave a warm welcome to Trixie. The majority of them were on duty in their prison jobs, and Trixie couldn’t help but wonder where she was going to end up working. She asked Katya when she would find out, and was told that she would be having a meeting with the careers counsellor within the next couple of days. By now they were standing outside a pair of double doors at the opposite end of the prison to Trixie’s cell. Katya made a show of walking up to it, stroking the door with affection as if it were her lover.

“And _this_ ,” Katya announced in a dramatic voice, “is my _favourite_ room in this whole garbage truck of a prison.”

“Oh wow, how can this beat the showers with literal shit on the floor?” Trixie joked in a deadpan way. Katya wheezed with laughter, like she had at all of Trixie’s jokes throughout the day, not knowing that it was the quickest way to Trixie’s heart.

“ _This_ room has shit on the walls, too. _My_ shit!” Katya bragged. She must have seen the panic in Trixie’s eyes, because she quickly backtracked. “Not literal shit. I don’t shit on walls. But my shit is on these walls… except it’s not shit. Well, it is shit, but it’s not actual… just come inside.”

 

Katya swung open the doors and peered round, waving enthusiastically at someone who was clearly in the room. Trixie took a step forward into the room, hit with the smell of paint before anything else. She looked around and realised she was in an art studio of sorts. There were canvases all over the walls, sculptures on the tables, lengths of fabrics left in sewing machines. In the corner a tall, elegant looking bald woman in a black polo neck was tenderly demonstrating something to a small group of prisoners as a bored looking guard supervised.

“This is the studio!” Katya whispered ecstatically. “And that’s Sasha! She comes in to give art therapy. She’s the best.”  
Sasha clearly heard Katya’s hushed praise, as she raised her head to give a small but warm smile to Trixie.

“Hi there. Feel free to look around.” She greeted in a deep and regal voice, gesturing around the room.

Trixie gave a tight smile back and subconsciously stepped closer to Katya, feeling a little unsettled in the quiet room, and even more so now that Katya had swapped the rambunctious exuberance for a serene silence.

“So, which of these are yours?” Trixie asked, looking around at the art up on the wall. It was varied in terms of both theme and talent, ranging from haunting, phenomenal portraits to pieces that didn’t look dissimilar to that of a 4 year old’s drawing. Katya didn’t respond verbally at first, just taking Trixie’s hand and leading her to the far-left side of the room.

“This is my corner. I come here a lot.” She spoke with a mix of pride and self-consciousness, as if she was scared Trixie was going to shit all over something Katya had worked really hard towards. Trixie took a closer look at the paintings on the wall. The paintings were… expectedly strange, but they were also breathtakingly beautiful. One was clearly a self-portrait, only with a few extra eyes and tiny hands all over her body. Another was of the American flag with hands grabbing onto the red stripes as if they were the bars of a jail. There were a few borderline pornographic ones, and although they were stunning Trixie was surprised they were allowed to be put on display. Trixie noticed that one of the paintings was half finished, sitting on the easel with some of the paint still drying. It was of a strikingly beautiful woman with jet black hair and sparkling eyes to match, sitting poised and pretty like a Renaissance painting but dressed head to toe in black fetish gear. Trixie swallowed. The photo contained such raw, potent sexual energy, and Trixie envied the power of this fictional (?) woman. Katya saw Trixie staring and smiled shyly.

“It’s supposed to be Violet, but I kinda hate it right now. I can’t get her stare right.”  She squinted at the canvas, a frown forming on her face. Trixie was a little taken aback to finally have a face to put to the name that had been bouncing around the prison walls all day. Everything was ‘Violet this, Violet that’, but Trixie hadn’t seen her once throughout the whole tour. A strange feeling stirred deep in Trixie’s stomach, one that she couldn’t place, and suddenly the image of Katya kneeling at Violet’s feet jumped into her head. She thought about Katya working for her, being used as a pawn in Violet’s game. She wondered what someone would have to give to spend the night with Katya. _Not_ that she was considering it- she thought the whole thing was creepy and wrong she wanted nothing to do with it.

 

“I wanna paint you.” Katya said suddenly, jarring Trixie out of her thoughts. “Can I paint you?”

Trixie’s heart jumped involuntarily.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” She stammered. “I mean, as long as you paint me in nicer clothes. Preferably something pink.”

Katya’s wide, dumb grin grew back on her face, and she nodded her head fervently.

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading the first chapter! I really would love to hear what you thought of it and if you want me to continue! I have so many ideas on where I'd like this to go, and I'm excited to delve deeper into the characters and their lives in the fucked up prison system. 
> 
> P.S. I hate reading my work back so don't really proof read... is it obvious? D:


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